Gravity
by Morgan72uk
Summary: In the end, some forces really are too strong to resist. Jibbs
1. Chapter 1

Title: Gravity

Rating: T

Summary: In the end some forces really are too strong to resist.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, don't have any money - and I probably shouldn't be doing this.

A/N - I've always been inclined to read the last page first and maybe that's where this story comes from. Thanks to Elflordsmistress for providing sage advice and giving me a push in the right direction when I needed one.

**Gravity**

With professional detachment Gibbs let his gaze stray over the security arrangements. His own expertise had contributed to them – so he knew what to look for and he made certain that he was satisfied with what he saw.

So intent was he on this task that the low buzz of voices, the clink of glasses, soft lighting and VIP guests didn't distract him. He concentrated on all the tiny details, assessing what could go wrong, calculating the variables. Around him other agents, other security teams watched – co-ordinating with them had been a nightmare and he was grateful only to be peripherally involved. Playing nicely with the rest of the alphabet still drove him crazy and he had been relieved to consign the task to the Director.

Finally, deciding he was satisfied with what he saw he turned his attention to the woman who stood at the centre of a small group, conversing seriously on what he suspected was a matter of some importance; Jenny Shepard, the guest of honour.

It was five years since she'd stepped down as Director of NCIS. Five years of globe trotting, of shuttle diplomacy, of holding a role of breath-taking complexity. She had judgement and flair and, according to her press reports, she'd used both to good effect. Of course he didn't read her press cuttings, doubted that she had time to either, though someone on her staff probably did.

She'd aged well; the conservative cut to her gown did little to disguise a figure that was still slim and curvy. Her hair was curled into an elegant chignon, a few strands escaping its confines. Even from across the room he could tell she was breath-takingly beautiful.

Almost unwillingly he let his mind drift back five years. They had slowly been growing closer, their fights underscored by something neither of them had been brave enough yet to call passion. The chemistry between them had slowly come to the surface once again and, at times, it seemed that the whole Agency watched them and held its breath, waiting; knowing it was only a matter of time before they succumbed.

They were the only people who didn't seem aware of the coiling tension. Instead they hesitated – the spectre of the past haunting them, making them unwilling to take the final step, while all the time the air around them sizzled with heat and expectation.

On the night everything changed there had been no particular drama, or crisis; no 'sister' agencies she needed to mollify and no need for him to bounce ideas off his former partner. He'd brought her some case files – only to find her putting on her coat, ready to go home. Somehow it had emerged that he was ready to leave as well and, as easily as though they'd been doing it for years, she'd offered to make him dinner.

He might have slipped in a joke about her cooking, but it hadn't occurred to him not to accept her invitation. As wary as he'd been, he'd felt her pull; not at all certain how much he wanted to resist, enjoying the way neither of them was ready to make a move, but instead were letting the anticipation build. As though they had no reason at all to rush things, this time.

Half an hour later, standing in her kitchen, he knew that this was a moment he would remember for a long time – because dinner was just not going to happen. He'd reached around her to turn off the gas, loving the small, knowing smile that had crept over her face just before he kissed her.

He'd carried her to bed – though his knees and back had protested the gesture. Even now he could remember the sound of her laughter as he'd tumbled them back onto the covers, how joyous and free she'd sounded. Time had stopped as he'd looked down at her, their bodies pressed together. The moment of stillness had felt right and good and damn near perfect, as though the years of anger and distrust might just have been worth it after all. Had to be worth it, because out of them had come the opportunity to slowly and carefully rebuild a relationship that had once been little short of brilliant and that ended with them like this, deliciously wrapped up her expensive sheets and in each other.

They'd still been luxuriating in their new intimacy a week later when the US Ambassador to the European Union had died from a heart attack. Three days later she was offered the position.

Music woke him from his memories. As the soft strains of a waltz flowed over the party he told himself that the past was dead; couldn't be changed, that they'd both made their choices.

This time she hadn't made the decision alone and in secret – though he was sure it was every bit as difficult and heart-breaking for her. It had been his decision too – painful, but necessary; because he wouldn't hold her back and because he didn't think he had the right to stop her from fulfilling a personal request made by the President.

And, once the decision had been made there had been no more nights of loving, no more evenings curled up together – neither of them had been able to bear it. Instead she'd slipped in a few final decisions in the flurry of publicity surrounding the announcement of her appointment and her departure from NCIS. Some very expensive new equipment had found its way into Abby's lab, there had been an award for DiNozzo, a more permanent attachment negotiated for Ziva and a round of minor promotions that had included McGee. But still she'd left; still he'd been losing her – just as they'd found each other again. His team had known it, but couldn't work out what to say; how to offer him their support from a safe distance.

The last night before she left the country he'd broken his resolve and gone to her – though he'd sworn that he wouldn't. But staying away was almost as difficult as letting her go and in the end he'd told himself that the only thing he could do was make the most of the hours they had left together.

She'd known what he'd come for when she'd opened the door to find him standing there, which was just as well because he hadn't been able to summon the words to tell her. He could see the emotion in her eyes as they'd watched each other for a long moment and all he could do was hope that she understood, that she was willing to risk the pain to have this night.

Holding out her hand she'd led him upstairs in silence. There were no words as he reached for her, unbuttoning her shirt and pushing her jeans down over her hips, sliding the rest of her clothes away and letting his fingers stroke slowly over her exposed skin. She'd sighed quietly as he'd kissed her everywhere he could reach, his mouth coaxing her arousal to the point when she pushed her fingers into his hair, holding him to her breast and pressing her hips into his – her demand clear.

And still they hadn't spoken, until finally she'd breathed, "I'm sorry," against his skin, over and over as she undressed him.

He'd held her tight as he moved with her in the darkness, kissing away her tears, whispering words of comfort to her, knowing she was already slipping away. And somehow, near dawn; with grey light filtering through the curtains and her body wrapped around his, he had faced the fact he'd been hiding from – that he wasn't strong enough to let her go.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N - so, thanks for the reviews, glad you're enjoying the fic. This might not be what you were expecting...

**Gravity – part 2**

_… he had faced the fact he'd been hiding from – that he wasn't strong enough to let her go._

At first he'd been paralysed by the knowledge – terrified by the vulnerability she'd exposed him to. But then she'd stirred, lifting her head from where it rested on his chest, their eyes had met and her expression; filled with loss and longing, had mirrored everything that he was feeling.

That expression had given him the strength to make promises to her that he'd been certain he'd never make to another woman. As dawn crept ever closer he'd found himself telling her that he wasn't going to give her up, wouldn't let her give up on them; that he'd do whatever it took to make this work. And then sealing his words by making love to her again.

An almost smile tugged at his lips as the subject of his scrutiny stopped speaking for a moment. She continued with her conversation almost at once, scarcely missing a beat, but he had faith in her senses – knew she'd become aware of his presence. His faith was rewarded as her gaze swept the ballroom until she found him, standing at the very edges of the party. Their eyes met, despite the distance that separated them and they communicated in a way they'd perfected over the years.

Her eyes flicked towards the balcony and she lifted her wine glass to her lips, three of her fingers extended. He nodded slightly in acknowledgement, the momentary heat in her gaze telling him that she was just as anxious for their reunion as he was.

He got there first, knowing it would be far harder for her to slip away from the august gathering – but trusting in her ability to steal away a few moments for them. For five years they had lived like this and they had got very good at snatching moments together, when they could. Her aides had become adept at giving them space, discretely – when she was in the country.

But she wasn't in the country all that often and they had kept their relationship alive, despite being on different continents.

He leant over the railing, looking out at the gardens below – but his mind was once more in the past. Whatever they had agreed it seemed unlikely that they would find a way to make it work. It was inconceivable to imagine him giving up his job to follow her to Europe – neither of them could see him as an Ambassadorial consort. Which meant that their only option was to try to maintain a long-distance relationship.

He hadn't told anyone what they had agreed on that last night – the plan had been to keep everything as private as possible. Those first, difficult days after her departure he knew that his mood had been impossible. But somehow those closest to them had worked it out, or perhaps they had just wanted to believe that after everything he and Jen would find a way to be together.

He really shouldn't have been surprised when his team had arrived one night with beer and pizza and proceeded to set up computer equipment in his basement – including a web camera, so he could speak to her face to face.

Even now his house was regularly swept for listening and intercept devices and apparently he had the best security software McGee could find; which meant it was very good indeed. Though McGee had drawn the line at teaching him how to use any of it, that task had been consigned to Abby - an interesting experience for both of them . But he had a considerable incentive to pay attention to what she had tried to explain.

"Jethro," he turned at the sound of Jen's voice, hating that the first time they'd seen each other in person for three months was at a function, where he couldn't touch her the way he wanted to. It was just too difficult to touch her in public and have it appear to mean nothing, as though they were old friends and nothing more. But the balcony was quiet and secluded and three months without touching her was just too long.

"Madam Ambassador," the exasperation warring with affection on her expression was wonderful to behold. But he reached for her before she could remind him how much she disliked the title.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, feeling her tremble and then she turned her head to capture his lips. He tightened his hold on her, the kiss deepening and for a moment the fire engulfed them.

But it couldn't last; they backed away by mutual consent, kisses becoming soft, and finally trailing off – though he wasn't ready to relinquish his hold on her. She didn't seem to mind, leaning her head against his chest as she caught her breath. He slid his hands up and down her back, a soothing gesture that nevertheless told him that she was tense – her muscles tight and knotted.

"I've missed you," she said quietly. He knew what she meant, the week they'd spent together three months before seemed impossibly distant and the fact that the days had been spent in Paris had leant poignancy to the brief vacation.

"I've missed you too, think the other guests would mind if I carried you off to bed and ravished you?"

"They might."

"What time does this torture end?" he grumbled, very aware it had only just begun.

"Around midnight. My first meeting isn't until 10 am tomorrow. I put you on the guest list; if you don't have a case you can stay?"

"We just finished one, I left DiNozzo supervising reports." Later he would tell her about the team, the other people she cared about, people who fiercely protected their privacy and this most precious of relationships. But he wasn't ready to share her yet. "When do you go back?"

"Wednesday," they had two days. It wasn't enough, was never enough, but it was what they had chosen. He'd never imagined it would be possible to keep a long distance relationship alive for this long, would have sworn he was too old to make the attempt – but here they were.

She wiped her lipstick off him, her thumb against his mouth more erotic than he expected. He sucked the digit into his mouth and watched her eyes darken with need. "God, phone sex just isn't cutting it at the moment," she murmured.

He knew what she meant; he liked sex better when he could touch her. But, since he wasn't able to touch her all that often, finding ways around the problem had needed a little creativity.

The first time had been excruciating – he'd been embarrassed but aroused and she'd been so clear about what she'd wanted and needed from him. Now, after years of steamy encounters he could tell from the sound of her voice when she was frustrated, knew what it took to get them both there.

Time was slipping away, he knew that he would have to let her go back to all those important guests very shortly. This was business after all and he was sure that she had one or two things she needed to accomplish, people it was easier to talk to in a social setting. But right now she was his for a few moments longer.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - thanks for the reviews. This is it folks.

**Gravity – part 3**

He left the party long before she did. He was by no means the most social of people and an Embassy cocktail party was close to his idea of hell. After some time spent skulking in corners and growling at anyone who approached him he decided it would be better for the ambience if he called it a night. He was very familiar with the security arrangements and was well known to the people responsible for overseeing them, so he had little difficulty in gaining access to her suite to wait.

Over the years they'd tried to maintain their privacy, but any number of people had realised the truth, had needed to be aware of the truth. Arrangements had been made to incorporate his presence, when possible schedules were co-ordinated – though he was sure her staff thought him incredibly difficult and wondered what she saw in him.

He tried not to think too much about what it meant that this relationship had survived, when his marriages had not. He hoped it was because they were older and wiser - not because they seldom saw each other. Though the distance gave them all the space that two such independent people could need, there was such a thing as too much space.

She'd coaxed him through his battles with the new Director – laughing at his complaints and reminding him how they had fought for the first two years. Her successor was more bureaucrat than field agent and she'd been the one to help him understand how to get his own way – these days it was clear he pretty much ran rings round the man.

When things got bad she was the only person who stood a chance of getting him to calm down and he pretended not to know there had been times when one of his team, or Ducky, had sent her a carefully worded email. She'd talked him through cases that got to him, risks and injuries to the people they both cared about and he still bounced ideas off her from time to time; needing his old partner's perspective – even if she was also his lover.

In return he'd listened to her careful, diplomatic descriptions of what her role entailed. The relationship between the US and the European Union was complex, frequently shifting – her remit included trade, foreign policy and security. She seemed to handle it all effortlessly – yet sometimes he could hear her frustration, her longing for the agency she'd given up.

He heard voices outside and, recognising one of them, assumed his wait was almost over. He hadn't bothered with the main lights, turning on a lamp as he sat on a couch that looked out onto a small balcony where, if they were lucky, they might manage to have breakfast in the morning. He took a sip from the bourbon he'd liberated from the party – thinking about who he would be if he'd let her go again five years ago, who she'd be - what they'd both be doing now.

When the door opened she was still talking to an aide, something about the next morning's meeting. He watched her, silhouetted in the doorway, thinking that she looked tired - though he wasn't going to tell her so. Again, she felt his gaze and turned away from her conversation. Their eyes met and held for a moment in the soft light; before she turned back and said, "we can finish this tomorrow," wishing whoever she was speaking to a quiet goodnight, before closing the door firmly behind them.

"Hi," she slipped out her shoes, dropping them casually onto the bed and then crossed to his side, putting her arms around his neck and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I looked for you a little while ago – I was told you'd been seen heading this way, with a glass of bourbon."

"Admiring the digs," he said looking around him at the sumptuous room, before drawing her onto his lap. The material of her dress rustled as she settled against him, his hands trailed slowly over her curves as she unfastened the tie he hated and then the buttons at his collar. She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw before backing away to look at him, her eyes shining in the subdued lighting.

"I've missed you as well," he told her, before he kissed her the way he'd wanted to earlier, tongue stroking against hers as she responded with the flare of urgency that he loved.

"I know," she said, her lips curling into a smile, wriggling just a little to demonstrate that she was very aware of the effect her proximity was having on him. "It's been a very long three months."

He could have agreed, though actually the last four hours had been particularly excruciating. It was always worse when she was within reach and, for a whole variety of reasons he couldn't touch her.

His fingers found the small buttons that held her dress in place as she worked on his shirt, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin she exposed. He liked unwrapping her, taking off expensive dresses and seeing her naked and flushed; knowing it was for him.

He pushed her down onto the soft cushions of the couch, wondering if they were even going to make it to bed this time.

They didn't always – reunion sex was often urgent; as though they had to soak up all the moments and touches they'd missed during their separation. Over the years he'd learnt how to tell by the sounds she made how close she was – but it was so much more powerful to use that knowledge when he was able to see, touch and taste her. Later, if luck was on their side and they had more than a night together there would be slow and emotional lovemaking. If they had several nights there might even be some sleeping and sex on waking - as they pretended, just for a few hours, that they had no reason to hurry.

She arched against him as he explored, unfastening the dress and drawing it off her between kisses and caresses. She slid her hands down his back, pulling him more fully onto her – both moaning as their bodies touched. They almost fell off the couch, wobbling precariously for a moment but then she slid her foot down his calf, opening herself so he could feel her heat and warmth.

She whispered his name, low and breathy and he knew that bed would be next time or the time after that, because right noe all he could think about was being inside her, of moving with her, hearing her cry out his name and cementing their reunion.

* * *

Madam Ambassador was looking a lot less formal at the moment – her dress was draped over the back of the couch and she was lying on her stomach, sheets pushed down to her waist, listening as he told her what he could about the case they'd just concluded. 

Lying here with her; warm, reasonably content, their bodies still tangled together after making love – it would be easy to pretend that everything was fine. But they'd been through some difficult times. He'd been shot during a case a year and a half before and even though she'd left Brussels as soon as she could, still it had taken two days for her to get to him. The delay had rattled her far more than him, he'd been unconscious after all and she'd been there by the time he'd started trying to discharge himself. But it was a salient reminder that his job was dangerous and she was far away.

And then there were the arguments. She was stubborn, he was – difficult, or so he'd been told - definitely a bit of a bastard. Their relationship had always been fiery, he hoped it always would and they'd discovered early on that it was perfectly possible to argue with so much distance between them. However, resolving those arguments was a geographical and emotional challenge – especially since saying sorry was seldom an option. If anyone had checked, they would have discovered that among his most visited websites were a good florist and a coffee shop both near the embassy in Brussels and that the Ambassador had the telephone number of his favourite coffee shop on her speed dial.

A soft dig in the ribs woke him from his reverie and he looked down to find her watching him. "You going to sleep on me?"

"Not a chance," he pulled her closer, until her head rested on his chest.

"What's on your mind Jethro?" She knew him far too well; he ran his fingers through her hair, giving himself a moment.

"The boat's finished." He felt the fractional change in her body language, wasn't sure what it meant. "I've let the Director know I'm retiring." She was silent for a moment before she turned her head to press a kiss onto his shoulder.

"And have the papers actually been filed this time?"

"Yeah, he can't wait to see the back of me." They'd talked about this; at the very beginning she had promised that if they were still together, she'd give the job five years and no longer. He believed her, because she'd tried as hard as he had – but, somewhere, deep inside, a sliver of doubt had remained.

"Well, at my meeting at State tomorrow, I should probably mention that I'll be stepping down." The resolution in her voice made his heart leap.

"You sure?"

"You built us a boat Jethro." For the first time he'd built a boat for the future – not for the past and over long telephone conversations they'd talked about and planned where they might sail it. "You realise we might drive each other crazy if we're together all the time?" He refrained from pointing out that they drove each other crazy anyway.

"I'll risk it."

"And DiNozzo's ready?"

"So he says." She laughed softly at that and stroked a hand over his face, "we'll take good communications equipment – and I hear the Navy even has access to satellites; if they need you, they'll be able to find us."

He wouldn't abandon the team again – would always be available if they needed him, but they were ready to cope without him. He was more than ready to have nothing more complicated to think about than what to catch for dinner. And she was coming with him – the ultimate high flyer, giving it all up to sail off into the sunset.

Honestly he didn't know how long he'd keep her to himself. He knew that sooner or later the world would come calling, that the friends in high places she had acquired would be reluctant to let her step away. He wasn't even sure that he was ready to retire himself – or not completely anyway.

He turned over, pulling her into the curve of his body and letting his hand come to rest on her hip. The gesture was a little possessive, but mostly comforting. Holding her when they slept was his way of making sure his subconscious knew she was with him. He thought he could probably get used to spending most nights this way.

No matter how difficult the last five years had been, he'd never regret refusing to let her go. Whatever the future held, he had a feeling they'd figure it out. After all they'd had a lot of practice.

The End


End file.
